Depths of Hell
by Vialana
Summary: A surprise attack on Remus Lupin is just the beginning of a curious turn of events that draws six key players to hell's door. HIATUS
1. Breakfast

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Buffy, the Vampire Slayer_, _Angel_ or registered trademarks of either show. Nor do I own _Harry Potter_ or the characters featured in any of these series'.**

_My second crossover, and, again, while not all that original in the shows/books, I just had this idea in my head I had to put on paper. Plus, I wanted to write a HP/Buffy crossover that involved characters I actually _wanted_ to read about. If anyone wants to read a fic where Buffy and Harry get together/find out they're related/have to join forces to stop Voldemort/etc. this is _not_ the fic for you._

_No warnings, gen-fic, though there might be slight slashy implications in one of the later chapters which can be ignored if you want. Minimal swearing and violence. Written pre-HBP and set post S7 BtVS, S5 AtS and OotP.  
_

_Anyone interested in reading something a little different, please, continue on._

**Depths of Hell**

The sunlight pierced the horizon of dark green foliage and the sky began to darken into a deep red. Below, a man rushed through the forest, crouched low to avoid hanging branches and dodging swiftly around trees and bushes. Shouts from behind him let him know how far away his pursuers were. He didn't dare turn his head; he had to get as much distance between them as possible.

Pain shot through his side. But, he'd only received an injury to his shoulder. Looking up in horror, he saw the sky and ran faster, hand clutching at his side, his stride slower and more awkward now. He huffed and cried out once before tumbling down. He could hear cries of excitement as the others drew near. He wanted to call to them to stay away, but his voice was caught up in screaming out his agony, hands clawing at the tree he'd come to rest against.

Finally realising something was amiss, the small mob approached cautiously as the screams cut off. They could hear snuffling and grunts low to the ground. A deep ferocious growl that could not possibly have come from a human throat clued them into the appearance of true danger.

Without warning, a misshapen canine form pounced, huge jaws closing over the arm of one of the pursuers. Screams filled the air as the sun finally set and a large round moon crested the horizon.

Something hit him and his mouth opened to let loose a yelp of pain, releasing his captive as he did so. The man scrambled back towards his companions and before the creature could pounce on them again in his rage, they had disappeared with a crack. The creature let out a howl of anger before loping away in search of more prey.

Many hours passed in the forest before he caught the scent of something alluring. Staying low to the ground, he followed the faint traces to the edge of the forest. Wary of attack, he approached the clearing cautiously, the small stone cottage always in his sight. Humans were tricky prey, though they were all that could sate him in this state, but this was different somehow. He hadn't smelled this before.

A creak of rusted metal had the creature alert and backing away, the spilling light from an open doorway not helping his state of mind. Just what was that heavy, seductive pull? It seemed human, but it was so much more powerful.

Unconsciously, he padded forward, eyes lidded. The humanoid creature at the doorway watched him, unconcerned, hand held out in welcome. He moved right up to the creature and rubbed against its hand, taking in the delicious scent. It was so strong, powerful and so similar to his. But why was it human?

"Hey there." The soft whisper had his ears perked. Golden eyes looked up to take in the odd creature framed by the doorway. "How about you stay the night? Wouldn't want to hurt anyone now, would you?"

The sounds were strange to his ears, but soothing. In some dark part of his mind he knew he should be hunting and feeding, but it was so warm here. He wanted to stay with the creature beside him. He enjoyed the way it smelled and the feel of its hands in his fur. The only other creatures he had allowed to touch his fur were his Padfoot and his Prongs – though Prongs could not often reach the right places to scratch. His Wormtail could, but it felt strange to have the rat crawling over him.

He missed having his fur touched. He missed his pack more.

"I know how you feel." The words meant nothing to him, but the sympathetic tone was appreciated. He would stay here, with the odd creature that smelled of wolf but was not like him; they would share warmth and sleep and perhaps the sorrow would fade by the sun's reappearance.

* * *

Remus felt the familiar sensation of dried tears against his cheeks when he woke the next morning. Too many nights of his life had been spent in grief. He opened his eyes slowly, sensing unfamiliar, but not hostile, surroundings. 

The sight of a homely cottage room welcomed him. Worn stone walls and floor filled most of his vision, cut in with the faded red of the large rug and a few paintings on the wall. Opposite him a window was open, fresh summer air filling the room with flowery scents, the front door closed next to it. A cold fireplace stood on one side of the room and a comfortable-appearing armchair sat opposite, a wide opening to the dining area behind that. He looked down. He was naked, covered by a thick cream-coloured blanket, lying on a couch. Reasons why he hadn't realised and pondered upon this fact when he had immediately woken eluded him.

He pulled the blanket closer to his scarred body as he sat up and took a closer surveillance of his surroundings. By the sunlight he assumed it was still around mid-morning, perhaps even as early as eight. He scrubbed at his cheeks and turned toward the kitchen where could smell breakfast cooking – bacon and eggs – and could sense at least one other person in the house. Glancing around, he noticed a short hallway behind the couch, leading probably to the bathroom, laundry and bedroom.

The movement in the kitchen area just beyond the dining area stopped and he heard footsteps just before the other occupant appeared from around the corner of the dining area. Seeing his guest awake, the young dusty-redhead smiled and stepped forward into the living room.

"Hi there," he said in an American accent. "Nice to see you're awake. You feeling all right?"

Remus shook the morning daze from his mind and returned the smile. "Quite, thank you. Uh," he coughed, a faint flush darkening his cheeks. "Not to appear rude, but what exactly am I doing here?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," the young man replied. "I can understand the forgetfulness though; I used to get like that all the time." He pointed his thumb back in the direction of the kitchen. "Breakfast?"

"Yes, thank you. And a set of clothes if it wouldn't be too much trouble."

"Not at all." He headed into one of the rooms down the hallway and reappeared a minute later with an outfit for Remus. "These should fit. Bathroom's the first door to the left."

"Thank you." Remus got up once he'd disappeared into the kitchen again and moved to the bathroom. The situation was getting stranger by the minute, he thought as he washed and dressed. He was fairly certain it had been a full moon last night, but what was he doing here? And who was the young man in the house with him?

Though he should have been more worried considering the current climate of the Wizarding World, Remus couldn't help feeling at ease in the man's presence. It was almost as though he should know him from somewhere.

Once dressed in the slacks and buttoned shirt, Remus made his way to the kitchen just as his companion was serving their plates.

"Good timing."

"Not always." Remus sat.

He shrugged. "It happens. Eat up; you'll need your strength after last night."

Remus tensed in his seat. "Last night?"

"Your transformation." The other man had shrugged it off like it was nothing. "Must have been draining. Plus, you looked like you'd been in a fight."

His curiosity over the man's blasé response to his condition was pushed to the side as faint memories returned to him. Running, pain, shouting, hunting … then peace. Remus paled.

"You should eat," the man said pointedly.

Remus ignored him. "How could you have come near me once transformed?"

"I'm hardly at risk. I'm a werewolf myself." He took a bite of his food, not taking notice of Remus' stunned expression. He frowned, though, when he saw Remus' food untouched. "Eat, seriously. It's good … well, it's food at least, and you need the sugars and protein."

Remus shook his head and picked up his fork. The situation was even more bizarre than he had first believed. The food was good though and he mentioned as much, trying to keep his mind from overloading from the weirdness that was this morning.

The other simply smiled at the compliment and continued eating. He certainly was an enigma – Remus just hoped he'd be able to unravel even a fraction of his mystery before he went insane from curiosity.

They were washing the dishes together when Remus decided to try and get some answers, his head finally in order. Once he had sorted himself out, he realised one very important thing he'd forgotten.

"I apologise for not introducing myself earlier, I'm Remus Lupin." He looked a little embarrassed.

"Daniel Osborne, but everyone calls me Oz – I usually respond to it."

"My friends used to call me Moony."

Oz's lips quirked a bit at that. "Appropriate."

Remus returned the small smile. "I know. So, what brings you out here? I assume from your accent you're American."

"Yeah. I've been travelling the world for almost five years now. A friend of mine owns this place. I thought it might be nice to settle down for a little bit. It's been a while since I've stopped." Oz finished with the dishes and let the water drain out while Remus wiped the last dish.

"Well, it's quite a lovely place around here. I think I live a few miles from here. I got a bit turned around in the forest, so I'm not exactly sure." He let Oz put the dishes away, knowing he'd just be a hindrance, not knowing where they went.

"What were you doing in the forest anyway? It's a little dangerous to have a werewolf running free like that."

Remus frowned, thinking back over his fuzzy memories of the previous day. He cursed when he finally realised what had happened. "I was attacked," he growled. "Normally I would have taken my potion and I'd be harmless but my house was broken into and the vial was smashed as I ran away."

"Potion?"

Remus froze, suddenly realising what he'd let slip. He looked around the kitchen. It wasn't at all magical. He hadn't seen Oz use a wand at any time and he was dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt. Yet … he claimed to be a werewolf. Surely he had to know something about the Wolfsbane potion – the Ministry sought out any unfortunate Muggles bitten in order to keep a proper eye on them and administer the potion. But Oz was American …

"Oh, no." Remus groaned, and covered his eyes with his hands. "As if my life couldn't get any worse, I've broken the Stature for Secrecy."

Oz watched his guest curiously. "Guess your life is just as complicated as mine. But I guess that's what life is: complications."

Remus laughed, and removed his hand. "I suppose it is."

"How about we make a deal then? You tell me what had you so freaked last night, and I won't tell anyone that you told me. I have some experience with weird stuff and secrets aren't much of an issue with me."

Remus stared at him. He was so easy to trust and Remus wanted to trust him, but he also needed more assurance. He'd spent far too long fighting a war and being betrayed and left to suffer to let someone into his life so easily.

"If I agree," he began, "Will you explain just what exactly you are?"

Oz nodded. "Sure. You deserve to know."

A crease appeared on the older man's brow. He wasn't sure he _deserved_ to know the other man's secrets, per se, but perhaps there was something more to Oz's story than he'd first assumed.

"All right," he sighed. "Why don't we move into the living room? This may get complicated." They moved out of the warm kitchen and seated themselves on the plush couch. "I was bitten when I was young, before I went to high school even. Back then, the society I lived among shunned werewolves. Being so young I should have been doomed to a terrible life, but I was given a chance."

"People know about werewolves here?"

Remus looked away. "Not exactly. The society I live among is very secretive, though larger than you could imagine. Those that have found out have referred to us as a cult, but that's quite incorrect."

"So when you say society, you mean like a government based society, not a secret underground society that's trying to take over the world?"

Remus winced at the wording. "Yes, we have a government. I do believe the British Prime Minister is aware of our existence." Oz nodded. "In any case, I was allowed to attend school, though my condition was kept secret. Three of my friends found out, however. They kept my secret and helped me to deal with the situation. Many young werewolves never lived to see the age of fifteen. You must have noticed my scars; most are self-inflicted."

"No offence, but that's a pretty crummy society you guys have."

"It's better than some of the alternatives. Of course, up until three years ago werewolf relations were quite high. A professor at the school I attended has been supplying me with the Wolfsbane potion – a very recent breakthrough in researching the cure for the werewolf condition. It is ingested each night for the week prior to the full moon and for the nights of transformation you turn into a harmless, normal wolf. Your bite is not toxic to humans; in fact, you no longer even have any desire to seek humans out. Actually, a major side effect is that in the complete canine state, you are quite exhausted and sleep the night away."

"That's pretty cool."

"Yes, though it is obviously not a complete cure. Also, the potion must be ingested each night, or the only effects will be that the werewolf's reaction time is slowed and the desire to hunt is diminished slightly."

"Still, that's pretty impressive. So what was with the guys attacking you then?"

"Death Eaters." Seeing Oz's curious expression, Remus quickly explained, "They're a fanatical group in our society that believes in the purity of blood. They have very old-fashioned and aristocratic views on appropriate 'class-structure' I suppose you could call it. I don't know why they attacked me or even how they knew I was here. I've been away from home for so long – it was only by chance that I was there. I have to inform my superiors of this."

"I don't think Giles had a phone installed here."

Remus smiled. "Once I get home I have other methods of communicating with them." He turned his attention to Oz. "Now. I do believe it is your turn."

Oz shrugged. "Sure. About four years ago I learned how to completely control my transformations." Remus swore, staring at the other man in shock. "I'm not the first. I was taught by an old monk how to completely control the impulses. Well, to be fair, I sometimes have … problems."

"That could be dangerous."

"It is. It almost got my ex-girlfriend's new lover killed."

Remus winced. "I'm assuming it has a lot to do with emotional control."

"Something like that, yes. Unfortunately, I don't think that too many werewolves are capable of doing the same thing I am. I was only just capable." Remus looked curious, so Oz explained. "The basic drift is that you have to completely accept the fact that you and the wolf are the same – you are the wolf, there is no line in between. It's … scary. I used to have nightmares about my teacher saying that. Still do sometimes."

Remus leaned back, the words echoing in his mind. "Complete acceptance," he repeated. "No, I can see how this sort of cure would not be widely accepted among us. The very fact that we consider 'the werewolf condition' as some sort of disease for innocents to be cured of does not bode well for that sort of mind frame."

"On top of that, it's pretty difficult. With that potion of yours around, I don't see many willing to take the chance. But, what about you?" Remus looked up, surprised, and Oz pressed on. "Would you consider trying?"

Remus thought about it. "I don't know. I was bitten very young, so I've grown accustomed to my life."

"It might be easier that way."

Remus looked over at his young companion, at once realising that he _was_ fairly young, in his early twenties. "When were you bitten?"

"Eighteen. I managed to get control by the time I was twenty-one."

That was surprising, though from what Remus had been able to see of Oz, it wasn't as surprising as it could have been. He may have appeared nonchalant and apathetic to most, but there was steel within him. "Perhaps I might try," Remus smiled. "Once I'm free to do so. Right now, I have to get word to my superiors about the attack, and there are far too many nefarious explanations for it. That's not even including rabid anti-werewolf sentiments."

"I'll help."

Remus turned to his host as he was getting up. "Pardon?"

"If you want me to, I'll help."

"That isn't necessary."

"I might be of use. I've been around the block a few times, I know more than I probably should and I've learned how to fight the bad stuff. There's not much you can show me that I'll be surprised by."

"How can you trust me so easily? I could be evil."

Oz just raised an eyebrow. "I think I'll be safe. Besides, I'm a werewolf too, and I know not all of us are as evil as they claim."

Remus stood before him, considering his options. He owed Oz, and it seemed a poor way to repay his courtesy by getting him involved with something that could get him killed; yet he believed Oz when he said he could handle himself. His eyes were older than they should be – they reminded him of Harry's, far too knowledgeable. Plus, he seemed almost eager, and Remus couldn't say the Order didn't need all the help it could get.

"We'll have to get back to my place first and see if we can contact anyone, and then I'll have to wait for orders."

A half-smile crossed the young man's face. "I'll drive."


	2. Supper

_Thank you to everyone who reviewed. _

_In answer to queries: (SarahTee) You'll find out next chapter what happens to the Death Eater; (mika) Well, to be fair, Remus hasn't really told Oz everything about himself, but discussions of pasts will come up later; and (Marz1) There is more background to this, which will come up in later chapters. I don't really want to spoil anything._

_And to ease worries, I will be finishing this story. I have a detailed plan and outline for it and everything._

_There is a bit of a language warning for this chapter, but nothing too serious. Hope you all enjoy this next part._

* * *

Muggle pubs were severely underrated. Though it would be hypocritical – and thus impossible for _him_ – to say aloud, in his mind Draco would admit muggles had their uses. Much like cattle, or horses, or house-elves. That wasn't to say Draco _revelled_ in muggle society, just that some things about it were useful. Like their pubs.

While rather large, Wizarding society was still close-knit enough for him to be recognised on a pub crawl. Armed with a fake muggle identification card he'd gotten a while ago on a "just in case" impulse, he charmed his way past the heavy-set bouncers and dreary bartenders literally and figuratively. He was Draco Malfoy, it wasn't like illegal actions bothered him all that much; especially not when he got what he wanted – peace, anonymity and copious amounts of alcohol.

The establishment he was currently frequenting in was like many others he'd visited that night – easily forgettable, and its customers even more so. He should have been the most noticeable person in the dank building – young, attractive with strikingly unusual pale features. However, his father had gifted him with a charm a few years ago. Nothing Lucius Malfoy gave his son was anything but useful. The weak spell was made to be used in muggle society: the owner – and only the true owner – would be able to pass by unnoticed by any muggle around. The Ministry had confiscated many of the Malfoy artefacts, the reason this one escaped their notice was probably the fact that it only responded to Draco's magical signature and activated when in contact with skin.

This type of charm – like most charms really – had its weak points and loopholes. The one that really bothered Draco that night was the fact that the charm _only_ worked on muggles.

Thus, when a tall bleach-blond vampire entered through the lopsided doorway (black leather duster billowing dramatically with every step) it was inevitable that he would notice the young man hiding behind the weak magic. Eying him with a confused frown at first, a smirk soon crossed his features and sat there as he sauntered over.

"Never expected to see a pretty little morsel like yourself tonight," he leaned down to whisper in Draco's ear. Everyone else was ignoring them. "It begs the question 'why?'"

Sliding around to stare at the boy beneath him, the vampire's amusement only deepened as Draco met his gaze fearlessly. He slid a cold finger underneath Draco's collar and pulled the small charmed gem out. Draco was glad the magic was infused into the chain holding the gem as well.

"Cute."

"Useful." Draco tugged the necklace back with a rough glare.

The vampire snorted. "Not useful enough. I can see you. I'd get my money back on that if I were you."

"I wasn't really counting on meeting a vampire tonight." Draco hoped that didn't sound as pathetic to the undead man before him as it did in his head.

A small chuckle escaped thin lips. "You should always expect the unexpected, clichéd as it sounds." He took a seat at the rickety table without asking for permission and lit up a cigarette. "Oughta be careful of gems like that too," he gestured at Draco's chest as he exhaled grey smoke. "No matter how small something seems or what sort of magic's involved, something could go wrong in the worst of ways."

"Personal experience talking there?" Draco wasn't sure why he wasn't telling the creature before him to leave him be (common sense and a healthy dose of fear perhaps?). And he certainly wasn't sure why he was actually continuing the conversation. Maybe he was a little more inebriated than he first assumed. Well, that or just more curious than any cat had right to be. It wasn't everyday you met a vampire after all; much less one that wasn't actively trying to drain and kill you.

Said creature simply chuckled again, though the sound was lower than the last. Self-disparaging maybe? "Something like that," he said. "So," he kicked back, "what's your poison of choice?"

Draco blinked at the strange question before finally realising the vampire was referring to alcohol. "Whisky."

The vampire took a sniff of the tumbler and scrunched his nose, slightly impressed. "Strong enough to kill an elephant I'd bet."

"Gets the job done well enough."

"That it does. I'll shout the next round."

Draco probably should have been running for his life at that point: knowing that a vampire was sitting opposite him in a cheap dirty bar that he'd chosen specifically because it was a place in which no one would dream of looking for him. But the creature's interest in him was rather flattering – even if he knew it was probably just because of the oddity of finding a young wizard slumming. The guy was probably fantasising about how smooth his skin was as he would rip into it later that night.

Draco was hardly a stranger to dark impulses however; and, as a wizard, he did have some degree of defence against the nightwalker. To be fair, he was just as intrigued by his companion.

"Awfully nice of you," he finally replied with a condescending nod. Making up his mind, he held out his hand. "I'm Draco Malfoy."

The amusement at the introductory gesture fled and was replaced with mild shock as his words registered to the vampire. Shaking his head, he took the hand, saying, "I should have remembered those features. You never did answer my first question though."

"'Why'?" Draco shrugged. "Why not? Heck, for that matter, what's a creature of the night such like yourself doing drinking alcohol instead of blood?"

"Touché."

"You got a famous name to go with that face?"

He smirked. "Spike."

Draco almost swore. "As in William the Bloody?"

"So I'm still famous then? Just bloody wonderful. How about those drinks then, eh?"

* * *

"Hones'ly, s'not like I wanna be the guy – he's a poof!"

"I know 'za'ly whacha mean." Draco slammed his tumbler down on the table for emphasis, nodding determinedly at Spike.

"Thank you." Spike threw his arms out and tried to bow to Draco, almost toppling out of the seat as he did so. "No one else wan's ta bloody sympathise. 'S always: "Oh, poor Angel, 'e's broodin' 'gain," or "'E's feelin' guilty 'gain, mus' be terrible dealin' with a soul li' tha'."" He poured himself another drink. "Stupid bints." He knocked back the shot, gasping at the end of it and shaking his head. "I's li' they think auta-mati-cally tha' a soul equals good."

"Tha' is stupid." Draco shook his head at the foolishness of humans, sliding further to the right as he did so. "I mean," he gestured dramatically with his arms, somehow managing to right himself slightly. "I 'ave a soul, an' I'm no' all tha' nice."

"Eh, I dunno, I kinda li' ya kid."

"Really? Thank you." Draco took a drink. "Where was I?"

"Er … "I 'ave a soul, an' I'm no' very nice.""

"Oh, yeah. Li' I said, I got a soul an' so does my father an' _he_ is a righ' nasty piece o' work. Worked bloody 'ard ta ge' tha' way too. Bu' th' real kicker is this." He gestured for Spike to draw closer. "Th' Dark Lord's go' a soul."

Spike slapped his hand on the table. "Get out!"

"I's true!"

"I woulda though' th' bugger had lost tha' years ago. Guy li' him pu's a lo' o' vamps to shame."

"Ya really wouldn' think it, lookin' a' th' guy. Scarier than you are 'e is."

Spike just shrugged at that, appearing rather morose. "Lo's a' thin's scarier than me these days. I've reformed."

Draco stared at him in befuddled amazement. "Reformed, as in, turned ta th' bloody white-'ats! Yer William th' effen' Bloody!"

"Look, no one was as surprised as I was, believe you me. S'pose I's what I get fer followin' me bleedin' heart." Draco watched him shrug and lean back with a sigh, still quite bewildered by the revelation. "S'not so bad. Heck of a lot more dangerous though – but I s'pose good guys need ta ge' their kicks somehow." He poured himself a drink and chuckled. "Plus, it really pisses gramps off when I do it better than 'im."

"Gramps? Angelus? I though' 'e was your sire? Lot a' books say that."

"We 'ad a complicated relationship."

"Obviously if your doin' the good guy stuff to piss him off. Isn' tha' a mite suicidal?"

Spike shrugged again. "Li' I said, gotta ge' me kicks somehow." He took a long drink, the mood turning melancholy, affecting Draco as well.

"Yeah, guess tha's true for everyone."

Spike eyed him like a virgin spread-eagled at his feet. Draco still wasn't sure how much the alcohol was affecting him. "Ya know," the vampire drawled, "Yer really good a' evadin' questions, hatchlin'. I still haven' gotten a straigh' answer fer tha' firs' question."

"You'll 'ave ta refresh my memory. Again." Draco poured himself another drink, but Spike snatched it from his fingers before glass touched his lips.

"None o' tha' 'til ya tell me why yer destroyin' yer liver."

Draco could see the futility in protesting the vampire's actions, so he settled for a pout. "Father's coming home," he mumbled.

"Though' you liked yer ol' man." Spike returned the tumbler to the boy, who immediately filled it to the brim and sculled it.

With a gasp, Draco leaned over the table and glared in a rather intimidating way. "'E's nasty an' evil an' ignores me an' pu's me down an' berates me fer stupid things an' is always off on stupid errands fer 'is master an' 'e's cold an' mean an' o' course I like 'im." Draco slumped further down in his seat, looking miserable. "I just don't want 'im back is all."

"Ah." Spike eyed the glum boy carefully. Maybe he shouldn't have opened this particular can of worms.

After finishing off another drink, Draco laid his chin on folded arms. He didn't think he'd be able to stay upright for much longer. Not that it mattered much at the moment; he was too upset to worry about much now that he was brought back to thinking about his father again. He glanced at Spike and noticed his slight interest in the situation and sighed, deciding to continue. Hey, who would this guy tell? Spike would probably eat him once he was finished, so ranting a little shouldn't matter, right?

"I's jus' …" he had to think about the right way to express himself. "I jus' wish he'd stayed in Azkaban or wen' off with his master and never looked back. Do you realise the shit I've had ta deal with in his absence?" He pointed a trembling finger in the general direction of Spike's face. "Everything. His stupidity in gettin' caught, th' friggin' Ministry on my back, th' fuckin' finances, our lawyers. In th' end I jus' had ta say 'fuck 'em all' and took control. It was a bloody shambles. Since the stupid Dark Lord returned, Father's done nothin' – jus' followed orders. He's no' gettin' off with an _Imperius_ plea this time, so there's no bloody excuse for not takin' care of his responsibilities."

Draco sniffed, hiding his face from Spike as he poured another drink. It was probably useless to hide anything from the vampire right now, but he felt a little stronger doing so. Sipping the amber liquid, he continued, not facing his companion any more.

"Mother's been so drugged up I don't know if she even knows who she is any more. Th' only thin' that seemed ta make her respond was hearin' 'bout th' escape. I could kill him for that. He's all ready ta waltz back and take control 'gain and ruin everything I've done ta drag our family back ou' from th' mud he threw us in. Th' fuckin' bastard. I'd kill him if I didn't love him so much." The tumbler Draco was holding suddenly shattered from the pressure of his grip. He didn't even twitch as glass cut into his pale skin and the alcohol seeped into his wounds. He glanced down once at the mess, then looked back over at Spike, perhaps seeking some sort of reassurance. He wasn't even sure what he wanted any more.

Looking around nervously, Spike said, "You should probably get that looked at." He was thankful for whatever charm Draco had with him, because no one even looked their way as the glass broke. Still, the situation was turning into something Spike wasn't sure he was ready to handle. "Maybe we should –" Spike's gesture was cut off as Draco started talking again.

"Am I th' only one who believes in honourin' our family name any more?" Draco was staring at the few drops of blood that had fallen to the tabletop. Morbidly, he stuck a finger in the tiny puddle that was forming and spread it out over the rough wood. "Am I th' only one who really cares 'bout what happens to us? Why did he have ta come back now once I've finally fixed everythin' and gotten used to it? Now that I've repaired some of the damages so our name isn't spit out like a hairball." He didn't bother trying to hide the tears any more. "Why now? Why can't he just go away? Why do I even fuckin' care?"

Spike awkwardly shuffled around to the chair next to the distressed teenager and patted him briefly on the shoulder. A mistake he swore he would never make again. His chest was suddenly smothered by Draco, his shirt already starting to soak through.

His hands held up helplessly through the onslaught, Spike sought out the barkeeper and gestured the man over. "You got any rooms or something?" he asked quietly.

"Hotel's down the road," was the gruff reply.

"C'mon kid." Draco felt himself being pulled to his feet through the haze of alcohol and tears. He allowed himself to be led out of the pub and into the warm night. His companion seemed to know where he was going, so it shouldn't matter if he just held on tighter and closed his eyes a little: his mind wandering though drunken thoughts.

Everybody in the Wizarding World knew about the scandal of the Death Eaters caught in the Ministry. But discovering Lucius Malfoy among them was a true cause for gloating for a great many. The _Prophet_ was filled for weeks with articles about Draco's father and his family. Letters from hundreds of wizards and witches filled pages of the _Prophet_ detailing every tiny suspicion and opinion about his father. There was even a special edition of the paper just to cover interviews done detailing what various important people in the community thought about the senior Malfoy. He and his mother as well. Oh, Draco was put down just as badly. They had no proof of his evilness, but any one who knew him knew it was "just there". And the public wondered why he refused to show his face for ages.

It got to the point where even the _Quibbler_ ran issues with articles on his family. The Ministry was hounding him; he couldn't go anywhere without people shouting questions and curses at him in the streets and Aurors dogging his steps. Raids went on for days until he'd finally had enough.

Over the rest of the summer, Draco had hardly been seen in any company other than his solicitors or Gringotts representative. He'd eventually fired his accountant for complete incompetency and started dealing directly with the goblins at the bank. The other pure-bloods thought his methods uncouth; he really didn't care what they thought. He was sick of everything – press, public, his peers. He was too angry to care about anything at this point. Focusing on his finances and social situation in a business perspective helped keep him calm and grounded.

In the end, he only kept one solicitor from a new and rather small firm. He knew what he was talking about and was able to help Draco understand his and his family's position at that point in time. Draco was able to take complete control of the Malfoy fortune and assets and he had fewer people to pay. It was probably only due to Draco that his solicitor's firm soon became as popular as it did. They dealt with many of Draco's financial responsibilities and, most importantly, had no ties to Lucius or any of his father's associates.

Gossip died down and the eventual result from the young Malfoy heir's efforts was a renewed almost-respectability. In other words, only his father was usually slandered in news and magazines. There were always a few vultures out for stories and any sign of his "inevitable" fall; but Draco continued to ignore all bad publicity, still mostly avoiding the public eye. He would never be the poster child for all things good and he hardly wanted to be. That was Potter's job. He just wanted to be left alone and to ignore everything that had happened. That approach worked rather well for a good while too.

With one great escape though, everything fell apart. Lucius Malfoy hadn't even shown his face yet and he still managed to ruin everything Draco had worked for. The very next day, comparisons between father and son began to show up once more and the entire Malfoy family were pariahs to the Wizarding World. As soon as Lucius finally deigned to contact his son, Draco knew that everything was over. He wondered if he shouldn't just take the same escape route as his mother; there wasn't really a point to living right now but for his father's whims.

"Fuckin' bastard," Draco mumbled as Spike led him to the lumpy mattress sagging to the cheap hotel floor. Blinking dull grey eyes open as Spike manoeuvred his limbs into a more comfortable position for sleeping, he said, "If he thinks I'm gonna jus' roll over, he's go' 'nother thin' comin'. I'm still a Malfoy."

Spike patted his hair as his eyes closed again. "Sure mate," he soothed quietly, watching the determination fade to a softer peacefulness. Hearing the slow even breathing, Spike crossed the room and sunk into the old couch opposite the bed. He was far too tired himself to make a proper bed. He made sure there would be no way for sunlight to get in the next day before lying down and making himself as comfortable as possible.

Draco could hear his squirming as he drifted off to sleep and before he fell completely into unconsciousness, he was sure he heard the vampire say, "We're probably bloody lucky the kid's not the Dark Lord."

_He's probably right,_ Draco had to agree.


	3. Afternoon Tea

_I'm terrible with updating, but I _will_ finish this fic. It may just take me a long time. Enjoy the latest chapter._

* * *

Severus Snape was absolutely certain this day was proof the universe hated him.

Oddly though, his morning started out pleasant enough. It was summer, thus, Hogwarts had no pesky students dashing around its corridors screaming and making a general mess of things. Severus thoroughly enjoyed the silence of the school during holidays; it actually seemed like a proper environment for learning.

The Potions Master was taking full advantage of his precious free time by devoting his attention to various projects he could not perform while students were around. He argued with Dumbledore that they would learn soon enough not to disturb his experiments, but the Headmaster seemed not to like his approach to 'active' learning.

This particular day was spent simmering volatile compounds over a low flame for several hours. The initial mixture had been made and left to ferment for a week before the final components needed to be added. The final ingredient needed to be sprinkled carefully into the cauldron at sunset after a slow boil from noon.

Severus had just added that final ingredient when the Headmaster called on him to join an emergency meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. Knowing the potion needed another hour to finish cooling, Severus begged a short respite that was denied. Muttering darkly, he gave up and followed the Headmaster to his office, hoping he could get out after a short break to finish the potion. He could claim it was something to do with Wolfsbane variants or something noble like that. Dumbledore would probably let him out for that.

When the rest of the Order managed to drag themselves into the Headmaster's office they learned that Voldemort was up to something.

Gasp! The horror.

This was, of course, not news to Severus. After all, when wasn't the Dark Lord up to something? In fact, _he_ had been the one to inform Dumbledore of the fact that the Dark Lord was planning to make a move soon. Honestly, did he really have to be here for a recitation of facts he already knew?

Quite obviously by the stricken and determined expressions alike on the rest of the Order's faces, this was news to them. Severus tried not to roll his eyes. He was of the firm opinion that Dumbledore thrived on dramatic tension. It was the only conceivable reason Severus could see for keeping such information to himself for over a week.

Basically what the Order was told was that Voldemort was planning a large ritual that would take a month to finish completely and would involve many deaths. Severus blanked out for most of the lecture, only pricking up when he heard something he hadn't known before.

That particular gem had to have come from Remus Lupin's sources. Or so Severus thought until he noticed said furry mascot's absence from the meeting. Not everyone could always come to the Order meetings, but Remus was one of the few who always did. Severus felt a twinge of apprehension at this, especially combined with the information Dumbledore had just given them, as it indicated something terribly wrong.

Much as he hated to admit it, Lupin was a rather useful member of the Order, working well as a field agent, undercover agent and procurer of odd and important tidbits of information. He had ties that not even Mundungus Fletcher could hope to gain. Thus, it certainly wasn't personal when Severus inquired after Lupin – he did still despise the man after all.

Dumbledore's comment that Lupin was unable to be reached didn't help that annoying twist to his stomach. It felt odd for the werewolf not to be there, and considering the situation …

Just what did the Dark Lord need with werewolves? Asking for an alliance last time had been met with varied results and often they had been more harm than good in helping the Dark Lord's efforts to win the war. Voldemort wasn't one to make mistakes once, much less twice, so there must be something else to this story. That unknown factor greatly disturbed Severus as he tried to comprehend possible scenarios.

The sudden sharp pain of his Dark Mark hitting him halfway through the meeting certainly didn't help matters either. He didn't even have to look at Dumbledore to know what the old man wanted from him this time. Severus had been kept in the dark on one, if not more, of the Dark Lord's plans and the information he had _not_ gathered was likely the reason one of the Order's best members was missing.

It wasn't his failed duty to the Order that wrankled; it was the fact that he'd missed something. Severus wasn't the sort to miss _anything_ and anything less than perfection was unacceptable.

Things went steadily downhill the minute he left Hogwarts.

Malfoy Mannor was bustling with Death Eaters: among them the recently escaped Malfoy senior. Severus let himself wonder idly for a moment on the whereabouts of Narcissa and Draco but quickly turned his attention to the other Death Eaters. There were a few who were not _complete_ dunderheads, so it wouldn't do to be caught daydreaming in their presence.

Still, Draco's absence was concerning. Lucius' plans for the boy had been very explicit and Draco's actions over the past months were not part of those plans. A confrontation between father and son would have to occur, though hopefully not in Severus' present company.

"Just on time as always Severus."

The Potions Master barely managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes at Lucius' snide comment. Azkaban had not improved the man's attitude as he'd hoped it would. It was no wonder Draco was avoiding his home so obviously.

"I'm still here, aren't I?" Severus refused to let himself be dragged into one of Lucius' games; he was still far too agitated about the entire situation to bother bantering with the man.

Lucius huffed and looked away, "Yes, I suppose you are." His voice was cold and Severus could not bring himself to care that he had insulted the other man. He knew Lucius suspected him, but Severus was a step ahead of the man every time. He had to be.

"Now is not the time for bickering children."

Silence reigned in the Malfoy reception hall as soon as that voice spoke. The Dark Lord stood at the back entrance to the hall, framed by curtains that matched his glowing hellfire eyes. Everyone bowed, moving completely into the room and closer to Voldemort.

As those closest to the Dark Lord, Lucius and Severus were the only ones to hear his next whispered words.

"There will be time enough later for the two of you to renew your acquaintance." Neither could help the shudder that overtook them at the sound of his voice dripping with blood and violence. He spoke up, so as to address all of the Death Eaters. "We shall continue this meeting elsewhere as we wait for the moon to rise."

Severus did not like the sound of that but followed anyway as Lord Voldemort led them outside beyond the Malfoy estate wards and apparated away. A tug on his arm told Severus exactly how to reach the Dark Lord and he wasted no time in following the man. Only idiots and Gryffindors would be foolish enough to keep a dark lord waiting.

Whatever Severus had expected at the other end of his apparition, a wide grassy field was not it. Quite a number of Death Eaters were surprised, though covered it quickly in their Lord's presence. Severus sneered at the other Death Eaters before turning his attention to the Dark Lord standing in the middle of this field.

"I'm sure you're all wondering what interest a large empty field holds for me," Voldemort sneered at his followers. "You need not strain your tiny minds too much for I am about to show you exactly what has captivated my attention these recent weeks."

Waving his hand dramatically, the air in front of the Dark Lord shimmered before seeming to part and reveal a large pit and several cages surrounded by glowing red wards and circular designs painted onto the grass. Severus felt a little nauseous as he noticed limp bodies on the floors of the cages.

_Twenty-eight cages._

"Fear not," Voldemort gestured them all closer to the cages. Severus noticed that though a few were emaciated and wounded, the bodies were all alive. Voldemort's smirk became more pronounced as a few Death Eaters sneered at the caged beings. "They are quite harmless in this form."

"Harmless?" The Death Eater that spoke must have been young to question the Dark Lord so. Severus was already backing away from the cages, trying not to let anyone see the expression on his face. He knew what they were and he was starting to see what Voldemort was planning.

"Werewolves." The Dark Lord confirmed Severus' suspicions.

It was amusing to watch a large group of wizards and witches suddenly scramble back from the cages in terror. Severus just rolled his eyes at the display, his mind still whirring with ideas and suspicions. He did not give voice to any of the questions he desperately wanted answers for, knowing that Voldemort would reveal at least part of his plans to his _loyal_ followers.

"Be glad I am in such a good mood that I do not kill you all for such a display of idiocy," the Dark Lord snapped at his followers. "They are caged, even when human for a good reason, nothing that has to do with their curse. Or at least, not directly."

"My Lord," Malfoy bowed his head as he addressed his master. "You have a plan to use these creatures in some way?"

"I do." Voldemort's smirk was even more pronounced in the fading sunlight. A number of Death Eaters glanced nervously at the cages. It was the night after the full moon, the third day of the wolf curse. Very soon the cages would hold beasts incapable of understanding more than their desire to kill. Voldemort appeared completely nonplussed as he continued his explanation of his latest plan. "I will use these creatures to gain the immortality and power I have spent years searching for."

While the other Death Eaters all praised his ingeniousness and smothered the Dark Lord with admiration, Severus was studying the cages with a frown. He couldn't understand it. Werewolves were as mortal as humans, their lifespan usually far less than that of a normal human due to the stress of the curse. The younger the person receiving the bite, the shorter their life. It seemed counterproductive, but perhaps he was thinking things through too logically.

Severus only had a moment to register the presence behind him before the Dark Lord cooed in his ear, "Something wrong, Severus?"

Severus bowed, wiping all expression from his face. "Nothing, my lord. I just do not understand how such an aim could be achieved through the use of _werewolves_." He spat the last word out with disdain.

Voldemort smiled indulgently. "It is precisely that attitude that will prevent you from ever seeing the brilliance of my plan." Voldemort patted Severus on the head, smirking at the way he bristled at the patronising touch. "Don't worry so much, Severus. There's no need for you to understand, simply to do. I'm sure you'll understand my plan eventually." Sneering arrogantly at his follower, the Dark Lord left Severus to his furious thoughts.

"My lord," someone called out from amongst the cages. "One of the cages is open, though the werewolf is unconscious." Quite a number of the gathering glanced nervously at the slowly setting sun. Voldemort however swept off to investigate the anomaly, a number of Death Eaters, including Severus, behind him.

"Cage twenty-eight," the Dark Lord murmured as he looked down at the man huddling in a ball in the cage. "Now this is strange. This morning, this cage was empty. I was saving it for a very special guest."

Severus caught the glance in Wormtail's direction and tried not to shiver. That explained Lupin's disappearance. But it did not explain the sudden appearance of a very much alive and healthy young man feigning sleep in the middle of one of Voldemort's experiments. He watched the man's eyes snap open at Voldemort's order to take him out and chain him up, but he did not struggle, apparently realising the futility of such an action.

"Bind him over there." Voldemort gestured with his wand to a place further back from the cages where a sturdy pole appeared from the ground. "Even with his demise secured, it would not do for him to overhear too much. I shall deal with him later, for I must begin the ritual soon." The Death Eaters holding the boy complied immediately.

"Lucius, Rabastan, bring Macnair to the pit."

"My lord," Malfoy began hesitantly, "Macnair did not respond to your summons this afternoon."

"I know." The secretive smile on the serpentine face was far more frightening than any expression Severus had seen yet. "He suffered an accident in my service yesterday. The poor thing has been so distraught about it – on top of that he failed to capture my special guest. You'll find him in cage one. Do calm him down before you bring him to me, the screams would disturb my concentration."

Malfoy and the younger Lestrange blanched before hurriedly carrying out their master's orders. "Severus," Voldemort turned his attentions to the potions master. "Be a dear and watch over our uninvited guest. Guard duty might give you enough peace to understand my brilliant plan."

Gritting his teeth at the second patronising ruffling of his hair, Severus growled, "Yes, my lord." He bowed and left the cages and the rest of the Death Eaters, cursing the Dark Lord for giving him exactly what he wanted while making a fool of him.

He informed the two Death Eaters who had bound the man of their Lord's orders and they left him with the sullen incompetent spy.

Severus studied the other man closely in the dimming light and almost cursed aloud as he realised the man was barely that: he couldn't be more than a year or two out of school. Bright blue eyes and a shaggy blond mane that reminded him far too much of Potter did nothing but add to the initial impression that this man was far too young to be involved in any way with the Dark Lord. Severus scowled, ignoring the fact that the man shied away from his dark expression, and hated the position he was in.

"Your name, boy," Severus finally decided to ask.

Clearly this wasn't what he had been expecting. Blinking twice, the man replied, "Andrew Wells. Are you going to kill me now?"

Severus glared at Wells. "Hardly. The Dark Lord would not take well to having his amusements killed before he could do anything with them."

He paled slightly at this, then frowned. "The Dark Lord? That's original."

Severus stared at the man chained to the pole before him. He was in the middle of a deserted area, occupied only by an insane Dark Lord and his rabid followers, dirty and trussed up with his death an inevitability and the boy complained that the man killing him had no originality? He had to be a Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff, but even they would be trembling at being held captive by Lord Voldemort.

"Do you have any idea what you've gotten yourself into, boy?"

"Why did you ask my name if you're just going to call me boy?"

"Perhaps just to later inform your family of your actual cause of death, rather than have them thinking you went missing, as Lord Voldemort's victims tend to do."

"Voldemort?"

Severus glanced back at the gathering of Death Eaters, noticing that no one was keeping that close an eye on him. If his suspicions were right, the man would die a much more gruesome death than he was sure Voldemort had planned for him.

"You're a muggle?" he finally asked in a whisper.

The man frowned in confusion. "What's a muggle?"

"That answers that." Severus glared at the ground before suddenly realising that something didn't make sense. How could Wells get past Voldemort's charms to reach the cages if he were a muggle? "What exactly were you doing there boy?"

"You know, your interrogation methods leave a lot to be desired." Wells threw the comment out with complete sincerity. It startled Severus, as did the sudden narrowing of the man's eyes and his next growl of, "And stop calling me boy."

"I shall call you whatever I please," Severus snapped irritably. "I am not the one chained up for getting caught so stupendously. Just answer the bloody question: why were you here and what do you know?"

"For bad guys, you are so uncool," he muttered, ignoring Severus' question and frustrating him even further. "I did a much better job as a bad guy. You lot are like walking clichés. And nobody likes a cliché."

Severus thought things had gone on too long and drew his wand. "I suggest you answer my questions."

"What are you going to do, poke me?" In answer, Severus shot a stinging hex at the man. "Ow! That hurt." The man rotated his shoulder in an effort to dull the pain. "That wasn't very nice."

"I'm not a nice person," Severus snarled. "Tell me everything you know."

As he finished speaking, Severus felt a sudden intense rush of power centred around the field. He glanced back at the spot where Voldemort and his followers were gathered, noticing the many howls and shakes of metal cages. He couldn't see much, as the sun had finally set, but a sickly glow was rising from the ground.

"Shit, this isn't good."

Severus' attention snapped back to the chained man. "Tell me about the ritual."

"Why don't you already know? Aren't you one of his?"

"The Dark Lord is not one to share."

"Didn't really look like a man from where I was huddled," Wells muttered. Severus had to admire his attitude. Even muggles who had no idea who Voldemort was knew enough from meeting him to fear him. This man seemed merely irritated by his capture. Still, there was something about his expression that set Severus on edge, a seriousness to his eyes whenever he looked past Severus towards the cages.

Both of them looked abruptly to the cages as a loud pained yelp sounded before the magic surrounding them imploded at the cages. Severus fell to his knees from the sensation, hearing nothing but silence after that terrifying sound.

"He's sacrificing them," Severus murmured as he got to his feet, shaking from the effects of the ritual. "But I still don't understand why."

"Sacrificial rituals rarely make sense."

Severus stared at the man before him, not quite able to make out his face in the darkness. Judging by the tone of Wells' voice, he wasn't sure he wanted to see the man's face. Andrew Wells could not possibly be a normal muggle.

"Why were you here?"

Wells looked up, eyes haunted by some distant tragedy. "I was sent to investigate an unusual concentration of dark magic infecting the nearby area. I got here just before you black-coats did, so I haven't had time to completely figure out what this ritual will do. But, judging by the power trip just then, it's very, very bad."

Severus glanced between the cages and the prisoner, wondering just what he should do. Wells seemed to know what he was talking about, despite his attitude and rather irrational behaviour. He might have the knowledge to help stop whatever plan Voldemort was concocting.

"You're not as evil as you'd like me to think, are you?"

On top of that, the man was far too perceptive for his own good.

"Look, guy," Wells sounded rather frantic, "Whether you're evil or not, your boss' plan could destroy the world. That's not a fun thing to have happen. Whether you believe him and his crackpot ideals or not, none of us can afford to have the world torn apart. I can help stop him."

"What makes you think I don't want him to destroy the world?" It was quite the opposite actually. It was bad enough the Dark Lord took his ideals to such extremes, but this … could anyone sit by and let Voldemort do this?

"I don't even think he knows what he's doing. No mortal can control the sort of powers he's playing with."

"And why should I believe you over my master?"

Wells blanched at the term. "I … Do you really want to be a slave to someone else?"

Severus stared at the dirty and desperate man before glancing at the cages once more. He could just make out dark figures making their way towards them. He looked back at Wells and groaned inwardly before releasing the man's bonds with his wand.

"I've just issued my own death warrant and given up a place as a spy for the light. Don't let my decision have been a severe mistake," he growled at the man as he tugged him to his feet.

Wells just grinned. "You made the right decision, trust me." He looked around nervously, having noticed the approaching Death Eaters himself. "Um, which way do we go to London?"

Severus closed his eyes at the sinking feeling that appeared suddenly in his stomach. "How do I get myself into these situations?" he muttered before grabbing Wells' arm and apparating them both away.


End file.
